


Uncharted Waters

by Farasha



Series: The Edge of the Map [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Pre-Canon, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly-promoted Lieutenant McGraw expected action while stationed in the West Indies. This was not the type of "action" he was expecting, but John Silver is absolutely shameless about pursuing what he wants.</p><p>Or, an excuse to write young James and young John thoroughly enjoying each other with no baggage attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fair Winds

**Author's Note:**

> From this Tumblr prompt: "Hi! Um, it's the anon who asked if you took prompts again. Er, I recently ran into a prompt for Silver meeting James McGraw? I was wondering if, when you've finished Any Port in a Storm, you might be interested?" - I was indeed interested and this is what came of it!

The _Warwick's_ cruise being what it was - through the pirate-infested waters of the West Indies - James expected to see action. The blue of his dearly-won lieutenant's coat was still bright and unfaded by the sun, with nary a smudge or a stray stitch on it. It marked him out among the rest of the officers, and there were whispers across the ship as to what could have possibly taken him so long. Twenty-seven was hardly an unheard of age to receive the promotion, but it was late - and for James, who boasted near two decades in the Navy from his first post of midshipman at the tender age of eleven, it was later than most.

James diligently tried not to blame his slow rise through the ranks on the circumstances of his birth, or his lack of formal education, or the lowbrow accent that sometimes slipped into his speech when he wasn't taking the utmost care with his diction. It was a stroke of luck that along with his new commission had come a posting - a fourth-class, but still a ship of the line, better than the frigate he'd been on before. Still, the other officers had not precisely welcomed him into their ranks. He was invited to meals as was proper - an officer could hardly dine in the mess with the men - but rarely did any of his fellows attempt to engage him in real conversation. It seemed that the mandate of Naval courtesy could only be imposed so far.

So it sent a thrill of excitement through him to hear the shout of "Sail! Black flag!" from the tops. 

James' post was still below decks, just as it had been when he was Gunner's Mate, so he could only listen in aching anticipation as hurried talk filtered down from above.

"Beat to quarters! Ready the guns!" Captain Sadler's voice roared out across the deck, and James had to fight down a grin.

"At your stations!" James locked his hands behind his back, watching the men move to their guns. "Mr. Falman, if you please!"

The Gunner roared orders, and James watched his management of the gun deck with an approving eye. The ports were open and the guns run out in short order - James swung up the stairs enough for his head to clear the hatch. "Guns at the ready, Captain!"

"Good work, Lieutenant McGraw," Captain Sadler said absently, peering through the spyglass. "Have the men stand down."

"Sir?" James asked, some of the excitement draining out of him.

"The pirates are pressing sail - they have the wind with them, we'll have a devil of a time catching them. Better to come alongside the merchantman they were pursuing, see if they need our assistance."

James didn't think he should feel disappointed, but he did. A missed action was a hell of a wind-up with no payoff, but he nevertheless went below to order the guns stowed and the men to stand down.

The merchant vessel, the trim little frigate _Fancy_ , had been caught by surprise by the pirates during the night. It seemed they had used the cover of fog to approach, which had saved the merchants in the end, as the ensuing broadside had mostly fallen short, thrown off by the fog. The merchantman pressed full sail and managed to pull away, but the pirates had pursued. Before the arrival of the _Warwick_ , the _Fancy's_ captain had spent a day under full sail - a stressful day indeed, as the man was breathless with thanks.

The _Fancy_ was short provisions and needed to undertake repairs from the near-miss at the hands of the pirates. After a brief consultation - in which the offer of dinner with the officers was made and humbly accepted - Captain Sadler and the _Fancy's_ Captain Hamish agreed to anchor in the cove of one of the smaller Bahama Islands. To all indications on the map, the place was uninhabited.

James watched the merchant crew as their captains conversed. They were a hearty looking assortment of men, many with the weathered tans of long lives at sea. For the most part, they went about their business and didn't seem to care where their course took them. There was one, though, who swarmed down from the tops like he was born to it, not so coincidentally pausing where it would be best to overhear. He was a young man, too old to be called a lad - James judged him to be twenty at the outset. James would have thought him frail had it not been for the plain evidence of corded muscle in his arms. A gust hit the rigging and he only crouched further down, arms wound through the ropes, intent on his eavesdropping. James, who had spent the first four years of his service ruthlessly repressing the cold feeling in his stomach whenever he had to climb the rigging, found that he was impressed.

The man must have sensed someone watching, for his head came up and his eyes scanned the deck of the _Warwick_. Before James could look away, bright blue eyes fixed on his. The younger man grinned - it was entirely too smug, as if it was inviting James to share in the conspiracy, and before James could suppress it, his lips twitched in the barest echo of that brazen expression. The young man's eyes lit like James had praised his cleverness to his face, and James had to tear himself away before someone caught him staring.

The obligatory dinner was taken early, at the customary Naval hour, and passed without a hitch. Only the _Fancy's_ captain had been invited, none of his mates, which left Captain Sadler to carry the conversation and the other officers to entertain themselves. James was on the fringes of the conversation as usual, but on this occasion it suited him. 

He found his mind wandering to the young merchant sailor, to the mischief and wicked cheek in his grin. James was not ignorant to his own desires, though he took great pains to ensure everyone else was, and he could not deny that he was intrigued. It would not do - despite knowing that it was hardly uncommon for men to satiate their desires with each other while at sea, circumstances necessitated that James be eminently cautious. The well-bred gentlemen he served with would take any excuse they could find to have him out, and this one would win him a noose besides.

It wasn't as if James was hard done by. He'd engaged in carnal relations a handful of times - not quite enough that he needed both hands to count them on - and they had all, without exception, been rather lackluster. He had never understood the men bemoaning long cruises at sea without a willing woman to take the edge off. 'The edge,' as they put it, was more like a mild annoyance than a desperate drive. So James would remain intrigued and distant, and perhaps one day the young man would make it into his occasional fantasies.

His carefully laid plans were dashed as they finally did put ashore, and Captain Sadler saw fit to give the crew of the _Warwick_ leave while the _Fancy_ undertook its repairs. There was no reason to keep more than a skeleton crew aboard in shifts, and Captain Sadler had been a Navy man long enough to know that keeping a crew within sight of land without letting them off the confinement of the ship was a recipe for discontent, brawling, and drunkenness.

Not that brawling and drunkenness didn't occur on shore. James barely touched the strong rum the merchantmen broke out from the _Fancy's_ hold, disliking the way being drunk made him feel. It didn't stop the rest of the men or officers, and fairly soon both crews were all but insensate on the white sandy beach, exchanging lewd drinking songs and boasted stories well into the night.

James stayed somewhat apart from the rest, trusting to his reputation as a reserved, quiet man to keep him from being bothered. He did give in to some informality, doffing his coat and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt so he could lay back on his elbows and watch the stars wheel by overhead. The constellations were different in the lower hemisphere, but after sixteen years at sea, James could put names to them all.

"Gorgeous night," a voice from behind him said, and he couldn't contain his reflex to startle, sitting up and turning around abruptly. It was the young sailor from the rigging, a bright grin on his face and his hands raised palm-out. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

James found that he had nothing to say in return, his tongue practically leaden in his mouth. The sailor was shirtless, his trousers clinging to his slim hips only by virtue of their worn belt. He stood barefoot in the sand, his curly black hair tousled as if he'd just rolled from his bunk. Overall, it was a look that made him seem as if he'd already been debauched once tonight. James found it hard to resist, even for all his claims that sins of the flesh didn't hold much attraction.

The sailor's grin got wider the longer the silence stretched out between them, until James finally realized that he was expected to make an answer. "Yes," he said finally, clearing his throat when it came out rougher than he'd like.

It made that wicked spark light up in the young man's eyes again, and he folded himself down onto the sand beside James without so much as a by-your-leave. "John Silver," he said, offering his hand.

James, bound by propriety and ingrained Naval courtesy, took it. "James McGraw." The handshake was far from professional - John brushed his fingers against the inside of James' wrist like a caress, one that had James yanking back his hand like he was scalded, politeness be damned.

"All of us are quite grateful to the _Warwick_ and your captain, of course," John said, continuing like he hadn't just extended a blatant flirtation. James stared at him - this brazen young thing was courting the noose and he didn't seem to care a whit. "I'll admit to being a touch more grateful than the others - you can imagine I have a very _specific_ interest in not being captured by pirates."

That was an invitation of a different kind, and James wished fervently he was a more virtuous man even as his gaze traveled over John's bare chest, lingering on the slim line of his throat, the slender bones of his wrists, his comely face. "I can imagine, yes." His pulse started to trip, and to his surprise, he was hardening in his trousers. His other encounters having been what they were, James wasn't prone to embarrassing himself like this. "Excuse me, I-"

"So I'm thinking, after I caught you watching me in the tops, that maybe I should be showing you just _how_ grateful I am," John interrupted, his grin wide and inviting and nearly too sinful to withstand.

"I-" James cleared his throat again when his voice cracked, beginning to be annoyed with himself. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid there are regulations-"

John tilted his head over to the fire and the carousing farther down the beach. "None of them are paying a damn bit of attention to regulations." He stretched his arms above his head, giving James a blatant show of tanned skin and lithe muscle. "If that's your only reason for turning me down, try again."

James would be afraid he was reading signals wrong but for the fact that John was giving him a half-lidded look from beneath his lashes. "Forgive me for saying so," he said dryly, "but courting the noose for a few minutes of mild enjoyment isn't my idea of repayment."

That made John's eyes fly wide, the shocking blue of them fixed on James' face with something akin to horror, his hands falling back down to his lap. "'Mild enjoyment?'" he echoed, sounding horrified at the very thought. "What I have in mind is considerably more than 'mild enjoyment,' Lieutenant, and it will take considerably longer than a few minutes. My God, who have you been sleeping with?"

To his consternation, James felt his cheeks grow hot - he hadn't blushed like this in years, and now this man nearly ten years his junior was making him feel like a coltish, awkward young thing again. "I beg your pardon," he said, indignant. "I hardly believe that to be any of your business."

John was still staring at him. "Oh _James_ ," he said, and his tone went straight to James' unruly prick, sounding like the kind of thing that would spill out of his mouth when they were both unclothed with their hands on each other and - James was _not_ imagining that, certainly, not even when John leaned in close enough for his breath to wash over James' ear. "Come with me. Someone as handsome as you shouldn't be having bad sex."

James pulled away from him with a scowl, stung by the notion even though he hadn't previously thought to place any pride on his encounters. "Normally when one's invitation is declined, it is polite for one to cease asking."

"You can't blame me for trying," John said, and there was that heated look again. "Tell me you've ever had someone make you come so hard you saw stars, and I'll leave off. Because if you haven't, it's something you should experience at least once in your life, and I would be happy to be the one to provide it for you. Really," and here he looked James over with unmistakable lust in his gaze, which was more than enough to have James fully hard, "I would be _more_ than happy."

The heat sparking under James' skin was new and thrilling and enough to have him reconsidering his fear of hanging, especially since John seemed utterly convinced in his ability to keep his rather lofty promises. James had always considered himself at least somewhat of a god-fearing man, but he was not infrequently tempted by the sin of wrath. 'All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,' as the verse went. Surely the sins of lust and sodomy could not be worse than any other.

He was talking himself into it, and James was aware enough to recognize that as the beginning of a downhill slide. John watched him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and now he looked his age. The confident cheek was just as real as this breathless uncertainty, the way he looked at James like he just _wanted_ so badly he could barely stand it.

James wondered what it would be like to be with someone who wanted him that badly, and just like that, he couldn't bear the thought of parting ways with John before he found out. "Show me."

John's lip was bitten-red and his smile was nearly incandescent. He lunged across the space between them, sliding into James' lap with a sinuous twist of his spine. His mouth was devouring and demanding, his tongue licking its way past James' lips. James shuddered, his fingers clutching at John's bare shoulders, already breathless and hard and _eager_ in a way he couldn't remember ever being before.

"Wait, wait," he gasped, breaking away from the kiss when John started to work his fingers at James' belt. "Someone will see us."

It served to quell some of the feverish squirming John was doing in his lap, and he scrambled to his feet, offering James his hands with a hot, greedy light in his eyes. James took them and allowed himself to be hauled up, kissed again until he was panting, and then steered in the direction of the treeline. It was a small island, but not so small that it didn't boast a copse of palm and fig trees, the shadows of which would serve to hide their tryst well under the dark of night.

John turned them, pressing his back against a tree and pulling James tight against him, fingers clawing at James' clothes. "I want you naked," he said, his breath hot on James' neck. "I want to feel your skin on me. Fuck, I want to feel you _in_ me."

James settled his hands over John's hips merely to have something to hold onto and anchor him - John was like a sudden storm, an unstoppable force, and _God_ , James wanted him. "I've never," he said. Somehow John's eagerness didn't make it a shameful admission, only a statement of fact.

John made a low, wanting noise and redoubled his efforts to rid James of his clothes. "Criminal," he said, nearly as breathless as James. "Not even with a woman?"

"Twice," James admitted. "The experience was somewhat... lacking. And I gather it's not the same with..."

"With a man?" John finished when he trailed off. "You're right about that - different as night and day. Women are all curves and soft places, pretty little noises. Men, though." James was beginning to think the grin never let his face, only changed to suit his mood. Now it wide and greedy, an echo of the look in his eyes when he finally got James' shirt pulled off and thrown aside. "There's nothing quite like a man for pinning you up against something and fucking you brainless."

The bald crudeness of it made James' face heat again. John made a little sound of delight and kissed over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, down the line of his jaw and over the sensitive flesh of his throat. "Is that what you want from me?" James licked his lips, summoning the buried threads of his confidence. "For me to push you up against this tree and fuck you brainless?"

"James," John said, wavering and a little surprised and _certainly_ interested. He squirmed and rolled his hips, his eyes fluttering shut when they rocked together, cutting off his short moan with his lips on James' skin again. "Would you?" He sounded delighted at the very prospect.

James was suddenly unsure. "I did say I haven't done it before. With a man."

"Darling, you have nothing to worry about," John said - and normally that endearment would feel mocking, but from John it felt sincere, like John had no concern about how James perceived him as long as they were both enjoying themselves. "You asked me to show you, remember?"

"Yes," James croaked, his fingers tightening on John's hips. He started the kiss this time, crowding John against the tree and sucking at his lip. The slide of their bare skin against each other was intoxicating, and yet it was better than any liquor because it was present and real in a way being drunk very much wasn't. He was struck by the urge to get his mouth on all of that tanned skin, and the thought was married to action before he could think to hesitate. John was vocally encouraging as James kissed and licked across his collarbones, applying his teeth to the taut plane of his chest. James' mouth came to his nipple and he couldn't resist sealing his lips over it, pressing with the flat of his tongue and relishing the way it hardened in his mouth.

John's fingers dug into James' hair, nails scraping over his scalp, and James had to break away with a shuddering gasp. "Oh?" John sounded positively delighted. He twisted his fingers in James' hair, just on the edge of painful, and it went straight to James' cock and made it _throb_. James groaned into John's skin, hips hitching, and John let out a shaky breath. "Sweet Mother Mary. You are _perfect_. If I hadn't already promised to let you get your cock in me I'd spend _hours_ fucking you. I bet I could make you beg me for it."

"You-" James couldn't think of a descriptor adequate enough for how _filthy_ John's mouth was, and what it did to him, so he bit lightly at John's other nipple, his hands sliding from John's hips to dig into his arse. John's head tipped back against the tree and his mouth fell open to suck air into his chest before laughing breathlessly.

"Whoever you have been going to bed with is a terribly selfish lover." John tugged the hair woven through his fingers again and he rolled his hips hard, pressing them against each other. "You're- why are you still wearing trousers? I believe I said I wanted you naked."

James responded by yanking at John's trousers first, working them open enough for him to get a hand inside. John's cock was hot and thick enough to fill his palm. James stroked it in a slow, tight grip that had John's fingers twisting in his hair. This he had done before - had another man's cock in his hand and brought him off - but John was an eager armful where the other encounter was a rushed mutual convenience.

"James, Christ," John said. He pulled one hand free of James' hair and pawed at his wrist until James stilled his movements, allowing John to catch his breath and fumble at his pocket. "Take this. Get rid of those."

A small glass bottle was pressed into James' hand, and he couldn't help the heat on his cheeks, a sensation that grew stronger when he unbuttoned and let his trousers fall, the both of them now bare under the stars.

John's gaze devoured him, his tongue flashing out to lick his lips, eyes tracing over James' stomach and thighs before coming to rest on his cock. "Oh yes please," he said.

James couldn't help but kiss him at that - it was even better now that there was no more clothing between them, only sweat and skin. John ran his palms over James' chest, the flat plane of his stomach, over his hips. He skimmed the backs of his knuckles over the underside of James' cock, making his breath leave his lungs in something like a wheeze. "There's oil in that." John nodded at the bottle James was now holding in a white-knuckled fist. "You'll want to get it on your fingers."

"I do have some idea of how this is done," James said, but he couldn't summon any stung pride about it, not when John was looking at him with the blacks of his eyes blown wide and his lips parted, drinking in the sight of his body like he just couldn't get enough. James uncorked the small bottle. The oil was slick and viscous over his fingers, but once he had stoppered it again, he hesitated. John made to turn around, and James caught his shoulder.

"A moment," John said, flashing him a teasing smile. "This will be easier."

"I want to see your face," James said. He stepped between John's thighs and caught him up - it was awkward, with one hand slippery and the other still clutching the bottle, but his strength was more than suitable. He'd spent many long years hauling cannons and lines, and John was a slender thing - his legs hitched up around James' waist and his back scooted up the tree with only a small wince, lost in the way his eyes were wide and hungry.

" _Yes_." John didn't squirm, but he arched his back and squeezed with his legs, tipping his head back to bare the line of his throat. James pressed him firmly against the tree and teased his slippery fingers down the crack of John's arse. He swallowed when John only looked hungrier, his grin wild. With another sinfully graceful roll of the spine, he managed to press back against James' uncertain fingers. "James, yes - do it."

James let out a shaky breath and pressed gently, one fingertip against the tight clench of him, but John only groaned in frustration and tried to take more. James obliged him, his mouth going dry at the way it felt, hot and soft and excruciatingly tight. To have that round his _cock_ \- he had to stop thinking about it, or he wouldn't last long enough to get there.

"More, more, damn you - don't tease me, you're exquisite and I need you to fuck me until I scream," John's eyes were half-closed and his words slurred into each other. James had never been with someone who wanted to fuck _him_ , not just anyone convenient. It was addictive.

James eased another finger inside, working them in slow twists until his palm pressed against the swell of John's buttock, his fingers seated to the last knuckle. John groaned, and his tongue flashed out - this time James caught it with his own mouth. He spread his fingers against the tight muscle, easing it and drinking in every noise John made with his mouth.

"Good?" he puffed out across John's lips, seeking to nudge his third fingertip into him.

"Yes, yes, that - yes. Do that." John seemed near beyond words, and James wondered if he would lose coherence entirely when he finally fucked him. His fingers slipped the first time, and John made a desperate noise like James was simply _killing_ him.

"Shh." James pressed his mouth to the side of John's neck, sucking too light to leave marks but hard enough to have him writhing. Up until now, John had been the one with the upper hand, but unraveling all that swagger was far too satisfying for James to let that continue. After all, he judged he had close to a decade of years on his side - long enough to learn a little patience. "I believe I might want to take my time with you."

John laughed, the sound turning into a startled groan midway through when James' third finger finally found purchase and pressed inside. "I knew from the moment I saw you watching me that you would be worth it and you _are_."

The way John reveled in their touch and closeness was catching, and James rocked against his body while he laved open-mouthed kisses across his neck and the curve of his jaw. His fingers worked slowly, pumping in and out, loosening and slicking the way.

"James." John's nails were digging into James' shoulders, and he tossed his head to one side, gasping. "I can't stand it."

"A little more," James said, smirking into John's collarbone. If the frustrated whine John answered with was any indication, he wanted it desperately and might start begging for it soon. James was nearly dizzy with lust, having John this way. To have someone like this, panting for him, insensate and needing him so badly - it was everything anyone had ever told him sex would be and yet _better_.

He thrust his three fingers in hard and John made a noise like a high keen, his thighs trembling around James' waist. James flushed hot and groaned into his skin, tongue pressed into the hollow of his jaw, and pulled his fingers free. He couldn't wait any longer to see what John would look like impaled on his cock.

John's eyes opened slowly and he rolled his head back to stare at James, a blindingly eager grin spreading across his face. "Now?"

James struggled with the stopper of the oil - he was still holding John against the tree, supporting the weight on his thighs and forearms while he fumbled blindly. The cork popped and he upended it into his palm impatiently before letting it fall to the dirt. His own touch was almost unbearable after waiting so long, so he made a cursory stroke to spread the oil with thought to how much better it would feel once he was seated deep inside John's body. He nudged the head of his cock against the slick rim of John's hole and grabbed his arse again in both hands, fingers digging in firmly.

" _James_ , dear _God_ ," John whined, twisting against the tree with his eyes screwed shut. "D'you want me to - _please_ fuck me, I'll go mad if you don't."

"You are _shameless_ ," James breathed, nearly stunned by how gorgeous John's voice sounded when he was so desperate. He shifted his feet wider to give himself leverage and let John drop down slowly. The head of his cock breached into the hot, tight grip of John's body and he forgot to breathe entirely. His head fell forward onto John's shoulder, his entire body flooded with pleasure like warm syrup, centered on the glorious slick feeling snug around his cock.

It wasn't the most comfortable position - James had a feeling his arms would grow tired of taking John's weight before long - but it was absolutely worth it to see the way John's face went slack, his mouth hanging open. His hair was plastered to his skin with sweat, his fingers sliding on the muscles of James' arms, thighs tense around James' waist. John made little hitched gasps every time James worked in deeper. After an excruciatingly long span of moments, they were pressed flush against one another, James' cock seated to its root inside and John clinging to him like he would die if James let go.

James gulped in lungfuls of air and stayed still, unable to stand the friction and the hot squeeze of John's body around him. When the sensation had eased somewhat and he thought he might be able to move without losing himself immediately, he rocked his hips into the cradle of John's thighs.

John moaned, long and half-strangled. He arched his back, trying futilely to push back against James, but James had him in a firm hold. "More," he gasped, his head tipped back against the tree. The line of his throat was too tempting, and James swept his tongue along the beat of John's pulse as he moved again. He was likely being too cautious, but despite how easily John's body had opened for him, he was so _tight_ James couldn't help but feel he would hurt him if he went any faster. And John was tight, and hot, and moaning in his arms, their skin bare and smooth where it slid together, slippery with their sweat. James couldn't keep his mouth from it, tongue and teeth plying against the tendons of John's neck. He kept his pace slow and shallow, wanting to draw it out as long as possible.

"James, fuck," John said, his throat working in a swallow. "I need- you have to go faster." There was a desperate edge to his voice, and James huffed into the skin of his neck.

"I can't go faster or I'll drop you," he said, but he did thrust in more forcefully the next time, wringing a delightful noise from John even as he tossed his head in frustration.

"Could you- if you lie down, I'll ride you." John probably intended it to be seductive, but with the look in his eyes when he finally pried them open was wild and desperate as his voice.

Still, the thought of John moving above him like that was enough to make James reluctantly withdraw and lower him slowly to the ground. To his satisfaction, it seemed to take a moment for John to make his legs cooperate, and then James was tugging him down to the ground as he lay back.

John knelt over him, his hand going to James' cock to steady it, and then sank down with his head tossed back and his thighs flexing. James groaned this time, tingling pleasure shooting up his spine as he was once again wrapped in the slick heat of John's body. It was as good a sight as James had hoped - he fitted his hands around John's waist, fingers spread out across the jutting bones of his hips. John was all wiry muscle and unmarked skin.

James slid the hand that was still slick with the remnants of oil over the flat plane of John's stomach to his cock and wrapped his fingers around the length of it. "You said you wanted faster," he said, proud of the way his voice rasped only a little.

"Yes." John's thighs flexed, the muscles of his stomach rippled, and he raised himself halfway off James' cock before he let himself fall back down, impaling himself. James shouted, his head falling back against the ground. John did it again, then leaned forward to brace his hands on James' chest. His pace quickened, though he still dropped his weight back down on James' cock like he wanted it to spear straight through him. 

James forced his eyes open to see, not wanting to miss a single moment of how glorious John looked like this, a tiny sliver of bright blue around the dark of his pupils, his lips parted, hair falling into his face. James brought his hand up to settle on the John's cheek, thumb brushing over his wet, parted lips. A flash of that familiar wicked amusement lit in John's eyes and he turned his head just a little, catching James' thumb in his mouth. He closed his lips around it and flicked his tongue over the very tip.

"John," James said, and now his voice was shaking, throaty with pleasure. John's movements would have been enough to undo him without the sheer wantonness, the way John took his pleasure as if it was the only thing he wanted in the world. James braced his feet flat against the ground, unable to stand being still any longer, and bucked up.

The motion wrung another one of those lovely, high noises from John, and his teeth closed around James' thumb for a moment before his tongue soothed the hurt. He bucked his hips, and only then did James remember the hand he had around John's cock. He matched pace with John's movements, pulling him off with a thumb flicked against the edge of his foreskin.

John's mouth fell open, and his head tipped back, grinding back into James' irregular thrusts and panting. "Oh, Christ." His chest heaved and the muscles in his thighs set to trembling. His nails dug into James' chest and his spine twisted, like it was too much and he just couldn't stand it - and then his body seized almost painfully tight around James' cock and he spilled, come dripping over James' fingers and down onto his stomach.

James grabbed his hip and drove into him, teeth clenched, his other hand locking tight around John's collarbone. It took only a handful of thrusts - the rippling muscles of John's hole wrung his pleasure from him, his eyes falling shut and his hips screwing up hard. It was like a shot gone off from the base of his cock that shattered up his spine and set off a buzzing in his ears, and he couldn't help but grind into John's body, prolonging it as long as he could.

When their grip on each other finally eased, John had left red welts down James' chest in the wake of his nails, and James' handiwork was evident in reddening, finger-shaped bruises around his hips and his collarbone. John fell against him, his head tucking beneath James' chin. They stayed joined until James' cock softened and slipped out on its own, accompanied by the slick drip of his come.

"Mmm," John hummed, mouthing lazily at James' chest. "I could fall asleep like this. You'll spoil me, you were too good." Even if it was flattery, it made James smirk and stroke a hand down John's back. His curious fingers found the loose ring of his hole, and John gasped, his body twitching when James pressed just enough to dip one fingertip inside. "Ahh- sensitive, sensitive," he said, a pleading edge to his voice that had James withdrawing, even as part of him wanted to see if he could make John writhe for him again.

"I'll stop," he said. And then, because he couldn't think of anything else to say and he felt that sex like that deserved some of the kind of praise John had been heaping him with, he added, "I would do that as many times as you would let me."

John propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at James with their faces mere inches apart, a thoroughly fucked-out and blissful grin on his face. "So? Was I right, or was I right?"

James raised his eyebrows. "Don't be smug. Sinfully brazen suits you. Smug is infuriating."

That won him a laugh, and John's fingers sliding into his hair, their lips fitting together in a long kiss. "I won't be smug, then, if only because I got far more than I expected, and everything I wanted, and I suspect you did as well."

"Yes," James said, returning that infectious grin. "If you're so determined to hear me praise you - yes, you were the best I've ever had, you made me come so hard I saw stars. You're plenty pleased with yourself already."

John nipped at the curve of his jaw. "It never hurts to be complimented."

They took their time putting themselves to rights, with more time spent kissing than dressing. Their shoulders brushed as they walked together from the treeline. John had a slight hitch in his step, and it made James rest his hand on the small of John's back, thumb stroking against the skin. "All right?"

John stepped up close to kiss him again, his tongue sliding wetly against James' lips. "I'll feel you for days, James, and every time I do I'm going to think of this and have to find a bunk somewhere."

James smiled, running his thumb over the fingerprints on his collarbone. John's words lightened some of the bitterness that settled over him - they needed to part ways, now, and it was unlikely they would ever see each other again. Even if they did, it was even less likely they would get another chance to enjoy each other like this.

Some of his melancholy must have showed on his face, because John said, "Captain Hamish likes to berth at Port Royal, when we aren't at sea. If you're ever there..." He let it trail off, shifting uncertainly, and James suddenly had an unwelcome thought that perhaps John's experience with lovers had been people who didn't care to talk to him once they were done. He seemed tentative now when he'd only been confident before.

"If I'm ever there, I'll look for the _Fancy_." He kissed John again, soft and near-chaste this time, their lips warm against each other and his palms cradling John's face. John made a small sound into his mouth, like a breath of relief.

"Fair winds and following seas," John said when they drew apart.

"And the same to you, John." James let go of him reluctantly, but there was nothing for it - he would be missed before long, and they couldn't very well stand here just out of sight of the fire and expect to remain unseen forever.

John backed away for his first few steps, almost like he didn't want to part from him, before he finally turned and made for the fire. James walked to where his blue coat lay discarded, somewhat worse for wear now after being left in the sand. Despite the melancholy air of their parting, James was sure their encounter would be a good memory, one he would return to - much like John - in the privacy of his own bunk for some time to come.

And when they set sail the next day, if James stood at the stern railing and watched a lithe, dark-haired form climb to the tops and wave to him as the _Fancy_ disappeared from sight, that was no-one's business but his own.


	2. Following Seas

As port towns went, Port Royal was better than some. One was surely less likely to wake up in a puddle of questionable origin with one's purse missing than in Tortuga, but English ports all seemed to carry the same thorough repression of anything interesting. With gambling and whoring both outlawed, most likely because the governor couldn't stand for anything that offended his delicate noble sensibilities, John was hard pressed to find something to occupy his time.

He no longer sailed on the _Fancy_. By the worst luck imaginable, Captain Hamish had run the ship aground during a storm, and the damage to the keel was such that it couldn't be repaired without prohibitive expense. It was the _Angel's Glory_ John found himself on now, and despite the ridiculously pretentious name - it was a brig, for God's sake - Captain Thompson was at least tolerable to serve under.

It had been more than a year since his thoroughly satisfying encounter with the English lieutenant, but John's thoughts still strayed there on occasion - usually at times like these, when he was bored to tears and more pleasant memories served as a welcome distraction. He had told James to look for the _Fancy_ if he were ever in Port Royal, and now the chances of them ever seeing one another again, already slim, were whittled down to none.

Still, John couldn't help the tug of hope that stirred in him when they were in port here, the same emotion that had him slipping into pubs he knew the English officers frequented. Not that he was ever _lacking_ for encounters of the flesh, but a quick tumble amid the sailcloth in the hold with someone considerably older and less attractive than James absolutely paled in comparison. Which was why every flash of red hair turned his head, and his eye caught on every blue lieutenant's coat, especially the ones that weren't as weathered by the sun.

Intellectually, John knew quite well that the life of a Navy man was not forgiving or without danger. Even without the staggeringly bad odds of them ever being in port at the same time, there was still the chance that something might have happened to James aboard the _Warwick_. Just because England wasn't currently at war with anyone didn't mean anything - pirates had grown steadily bolder and more numerous, with the hundreds of small islands scattered around the West Indies serving as lawless ports for them to make berth.

John shook those thoughts out of his head, strolling down the lamplit docks from one tavern to the next. He hadn't yet stopped to drink, a product of rough company in the first tavern and nobody worth wasting his time on in the second. Too, it being an English port meant that John had to be more discreet than usual, or find a woman instead of what he really wanted. This wasn't an abandoned island in the middle of nowhere - the threat of discovery and hanging was all the more real the closer one came to civilization.

The night sky was clear, lantern light from the docks spreading out across inky water. The masts of the ships in port swayed gently with the low waves, and John paused, folding his arms over a low post. His eyes tracked over the vessels, wondering if one of the ships-of-the-line bobbing out there in the cove was the _Warwick_. It was too dark to make out the lettering on the one ship that was anchored with her stern toward the port.

In any case, James would be ashore with the _Warwick_ crew, if he was here at all. For all the risk to John, there was an even greater risk to James and his career. There was no guarantee a second encounter would be anywhere near as pleasing as the first. It was far more likely James would want nothing to do with him - or wouldn't even recognize him.

People didn't tend to smile when John turned up again.

John huffed, raking his fingers through his hair. He needed a strong drink and a good fuck, in that order, before he was stuck at sea for another cruise with only the dubious company aboard the _Angel's Glory_. Her ecclesiastical name was unfortunately indicative of her captain's attitude toward liaisons between the men. John had an urge thrumming through his blood that he only got when he'd gone too long without bare skin against his own.

His steps led him on a meandering course down the docks, and he slouched into a pub with an inviting amount of noise coming from the inside, his stride still rolling from the sea. A coin and a crooked smile got him a drink from the barmaid. John settled with his hip against a barstool and let his eyes track over the patronage. Whether consciously or not, he'd chosen another establishment where the drinkers wore blue coats and epaulettes. John made a face at himself and took a long drink, annoyance prickling at the back of his throat. There was being hopeful, and then there was just being pathetic - this was edging toward the latter.

It was in the midst of thoroughly berating himself for mooning like a lovesick boy that John saw him. Against all odds, against all common sense, and contrary to the careful pessimism John had wound tightly around himself to keep a certain red-haired lieutenant from his heart, there he sat. His red hair was a little longer, and it seemed he hadn't bothered with a razor in a couple days, but there was no mistaking that face. It was the same face John had seen burned into the backs of his eyelids every time he stole a quiet moment to himself, the same face John had been seeking every time he docked in Port Royal.

James wasn't sitting with anyone else. It was as it had been when they first met - James holding himself apart from the rest. John got the sense that he didn't quite fit in with the other officers, and that he preferred to hold himself, if not aloof, certainly apart. He seemed apart from it all, now, cradling a pint between his palms and watching the other patrons with something like wistfulness.

John couldn't leave him there by himself now any more than he had been able to a year ago on that remote island. The wistfulness - loneliness - in his face demanded an answer, and John was only too happy to be the one who provided it. He threaded his way through the tables until he came to James' and settled into the chair opposite him with a bright grin, inserting himself into the man's space just as he had done on that beach.

James' eyebrows snapped together in a frown, and his head jerked up to spear John with an affronted glare that melted off his face as quickly as it had come, leaving him blinking and speechless. His lips parted on a breath that didn't contain any words, almost like he was too surprised to speak. John's eyes went to his mouth like they'd been drawn there. The stubble was a good look on him. John wanted to feel it on his skin.

"John," he said, the name falling from his mouth like no time at all had passed since they parted ways. "What - I didn't see the _Fancy_ come into port."

"Captain Hamish ran her aground," John said, his grin practically taking over his face. "I sail on the _Angel's Glory_ now. It's a brig. Don't let the name fool you."

James' mouth quirked, just a little, but the smile was all in his eyes, bright and warm and very green in the lantern light. "And you in a Naval tavern. Were you looking for me?"

John swallowed, caught by his gaze and the teasing light there. "It was too dark to see if the _Warwick_ was one of the ships in port. I didn't know you were here."

"That's not 'no.'" James hadn't moved - the distance between them was no lesser now than it had been when John first brashly inserted himself into James' space - but the air seemed to grow closer between the two of them.

"It's good to see you," John said. What had been a smirk pulling at one side of James' mouth evened into a small smile, and John grinned in return. "It feels like no time at all since that little spit of land."

"On the contrary. It feels intolerably long to me." James lowered his voice when he spoke, and John found himself leaning closer unconsciously, his elbows propped on the table. There was still a good arm's span of distance between them, no public impropriety, but staring into James' eyes felt intimate and arresting. There had been such a fire between them on the island that night, and none of it seemed to have diminished with their parting.

A raucous guffaw made John jump, suddenly aware again of his surroundings. James' face shuttered, the smile faltering, like he too had realized where they were and what they were doing. John's tongue darted out to wet his lips and James' gaze snapped to it, his eyes flicking up to John's like a silent question.

"Are you staying aboard ship, or have you a room?" James asked, a strained, forced lightness in his voice.

"As if I'd bunk in crew quarters if I had another choice. I spend enough time trapped in enclosed spaces surrounded by the unwashed." John's smile was perhaps a bit manic - already, desire thrummed under his skin. Their oblique conversation was only serving to delay the point in time when he could get his hands on James' bare skin again. He was right. It had been intolerably long.

"Perhaps that would be a better setting for catching up - where we can both hear ourselves think." James got up from the table. If they had been in a free port, John could have taken his hand, drawn him out of the tavern without a care as to who saw them. But this was England, civilized country, and John hadn't done so well in free ports. They kept a few handspans of distance between them, strolling abreast and leisurely down the stone walk by the sea.

"You said your last captain ran his ship aground?"

John was glad for the break in the silence. If he kept dwelling on what was about to come, it would start getting quite uncomfortable to walk. "In all fairness, it was during a bad squall. The lookout would have trouble spying that sandbar on a clear day, much less on a dark one in driving rain."

They continued in that vein as they walked, talking only of the sea. James walked like a soldier and a gentleman, his hands laced behind his back, his stride measured and his chin high. John was suddenly aware of the acute difference in their appearances - James in his brushed coat, still a fine shade of blue with all its buttons attached, and John in his weather-stained and oft-mended garments. John's hair curled wildly around his shoulders while James had his tied neatly back with dark ribbon.

The back of his neck prickled, too aware what it would look like if the wrong person saw them. James was older, and a British officer - John was not so young that it would be immediately assumed he was turning a trick, but the conclusion could be reached without much thought. He wanted to be safely behind a closed door, where he could lay James out and do all the things to him he'd thought of doing since they parted.

"This is me," John said, indicating the small inn at the end of the way. He tried not to slip into the establishment like he had something to hide, but nevertheless strode quickly for the stair leading to the second floor. James followed, and when John glanced back at him his face was shuttered. He fumbled for the key he'd been given and let them both in.

The room was dark, and John cast around for a tinderbox. In short order he had two small lanterns lit, enough to set the room aglow. James still stood next to the closed door, his hand on the latch. Here, his officer's posture was discarded for something nearly bashful, his shoulders rounded and his eyes flickering between John and John's boots. It was the same shy uncertainty John had seen on the beach, and it drew him in now just as it had then.

"Did you think about me often?" John asked, crossing the room and curling his hand around James' wrist, tugging it away from the door and resting it on his waist. James let himself be moved, let John step right into his space and crowd him against the door, let John lean in close enough to breathe his next words across James' lips. "Did you lie awake at night with your hand around your cock, remembering how it felt inside me?"

"Christ," James whispered against his mouth - then he tipped his head and stole the next words John would say. The beard felt just as good as John thought it would, a rough contrast to the soft press of lips against his. John was the one who pressed for harder, more, his tongue flirting with James' lip until James shuddered and opened for him.

John's hands went to the cravat at James' throat, yanking it loose and letting it fall to the floor, then pulled open the buttons of James' shirt. They were pressed together against the door before John was able to set his head straight, his fingers splayed out across James' sides through his shirt and coat. He grabbed it by the lapels and tugged, pulling James away from the door. "Well?"

"I thought of you," James said, his voice thick and low. "I thought of the way you looked above me in the moonlight, how good you felt under my hands. I seem to have forgotten that obscene _mouth_ of yours, though."

"Forgot about it? I'll have to fix that. It's good for far more than just obscene _words_." John's grin was slow and wicked. He watched the knot of James' throat as he swallowed, his mind catching up to what he'd said, watched him take breath to speak and then lose it abruptly when John steered him around until he was sitting on the bed. John stripped his shirt over his head, toed his boots off, and slid to his knees on the wooden floor between James' legs.

"I- John." James was hesitant, like he was struggling to find the right way to tell John he didn't have to do this.

"You always wear so many layers," John said, running his palms over James' thighs, skimming his fingers along the waist until he came to the ties of James' trousers. He pulled them loose to get at the gorgeous prick inside them - the one John really should have gotten in his mouth the last time.

James was struggling out of his coat when John curled his fingers around James' thighs and opened his mouth wide, taking the head of James' cock in and letting it rest on his tongue. His eyes slipped closed at the sensation - thick enough to be substantial, long enough to prove a challenge to take all the way. James was fucking _perfect_ , just like he'd been before - it was criminal he was wasted on the Navy.

John opened his eyes, looking up through his lashes as he held still, teasing with little flutters of his tongue. James stared at him, his lips parted and his eyes dark, still half-tangled in his coat, his movements having been arrested at the first touch of John's tongue on him. John felt the muscles under his hands shake and took pity, closing his lips around the length in his mouth and laving his tongue over the head.

"John. _Fuck_." James collapsed down onto his elbows, his head thrown back, his clothes in disarray but still only half-removed. John sucked gently at his cock, taking in more of the length in increments. He intended to have James incoherent and begging under him before the night was over. James' hips twitched and John pressed him down by the grip on his thighs. The head of his cock nudged against the back of John's throat, and whatever he was about to say turned into a strangled groan when John swallowed, taking him in deeper until his nose brushed the thatch of red curls at the junction of his thighs.

James tangled his fingers in John's hair. His hands spasmed, the fingers tightening and then loosening with gentle apologetic strokes of the thumbs. John drew back, sucking all the while, never letting James fall from his lips as he took him back in again. James shifted restlessly against the bed, his breaths harsh and ragged in John's ears. He smelled of harsh soap and faintly of salt, an ever-present scent on men that made their living by the sea. On James, though, it was natural and intoxicating. John pulled away with a noisy pop, looking up the line of James' body to his face.

He was flushed bright red, panting, his hands tangled in John's hair and his thighs splayed as far as they would go with his trousers still tangled around them. Debauched already, and they had barely begun. John grinned at him and laid a wet kiss on the inside of his thigh, slowly working his trousers down, momentarily stymied by stockings and shoes before wrestling the whole kit off.

John slid his hand under James' thigh and pressed it up, spreading James open wide. He kissed at the skin of his thighs, licking at the base of his cock and over the delicate, soft skin of his balls, ginger hair tickling at his tongue.

When he strayed lower, one of James' hands shot out to grasp his hair again, but he still only tugged lightly, a far cry from the sharp yanks of ruder bed partners. James was wide-eyed and unsure when John looked up, the hand not in John's hair hovering uncertainly above his shoulder. John had to reach down and squeeze his cock to relieve the throbbing ache that set up in it.

He could happily drown in that look. Though James was the older of the two of them, he looked young and almost _innocent_ now. John was willing to lay money that he'd not found a suitable bed partner they'd been parted, which meant all of the responsiveness and passion they'd shared the first time would be there again. He pressed at his cock through his trousers - just the thought of it was enough to have him painfully hard, and nevermind how James _looked_.

"Let me," John said, nipping at the juncture of his thigh, grinning into his skin when James jumped and nodded, his mouth still slack open like he couldn't get enough air. John palmed the flesh of his arse and spread him open still wider, exposing his hole. James tightened his fingers in John's hair, but otherwise made no move to stop John when he leaned down and licked wetly over the furled muscle.

"John!" James shouted, his free hand twisting in the sheets, his fingers spasming in John's hair. John hummed against the sensitive flesh, clutching tightly at James' buttocks to keep him from squirming away from the tongue pressed flat against his hole. John's name was the last coherent word from his lips. Half-formed, stuttering syllables drew out into long moans as John plied him with wet, long, dragging licks that had James' thighs shaking under his hands.

James was so tight, John had to work at him gently and thoroughly before he was able to press the tip of his tongue inside. The strangled keening noise from James' chest set John's blood roaring in his ears. His cheeks were wet with saliva, and as he worked his tongue further into the tight clutch of James' hole, his teeth grazed the rim, provoking a sound that was nearly a scream, high and raw - and loud.

John drew back, relishing the broken-off noise of protest it elicited. "Much as I enjoy hearing you, the walls here are not particularly thick."

James gaped down at him, his eyes glassy, as if John's words hadn't penetrated. Then he swallowed and nodded, still quite speechless, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as John returned to the business of reducing him to a quivering, pleasure-blinded heap.

It was momentarily disappointing to have his cries muffled, but by the time John was slowly working a finger inside him alongside his tongue, James was grinding back against his face, his heel slipping on the sheets as he tried to gain leverage. John nudged a second finger in beside the first. He worked his tongue over and between them, spreading his fingers slowly to make space for the slick muscle. James tasted like musk and the sea, and John made pleased noises of his own as he screwed his tongue in deeper until his lips rested against the stretched rim.

James whined high in his throat again as John fucked him with his tongue, holding him open with his two fingers, feeling him clench and writhe and shiver from it. John stroked his palm soothingly over the flat plane of James' stomach, his motions stuttering to a halt when he encountered a smear of wetness beneath the head of James' cock.

He withdrew his tongue achingly slow, and laved it over the tender flesh one last time, relishing how it was loosened and yielding now to the press of his fingers, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. James had managed to unbutton his waistcoat and ruck up his shirt, baring his stomach. His cock was flushed an angry red - it looked like it ached, and pearly fluid dribbled from its tip. John traced the vein on its underside with one feather-light touch, watching the way it made James' whole body seize.

"Look at you," John breathed, teasing a third finger at his hole. "I said I wanted you undone, but _this_. James, my God. If I had my way I would keep you here forever, just like this, witless with pleasure and all for my taking."

"John please." James slurred the words out around the back of his hand, his eyes still squeezed shut, hips rocking back against John's hand. John took pity and let him have the third, pressing slowly into the spit-slick passage. "I can't- you can't- please just _have_ me."

"I will, I will," John said, soothing and lascivious all in one. He was in no rush to end this quickly, not while he could pull James apart at the seams, unwind all his propriety and have him _begging_. He twisted his wrist, fingers crooked, searching for the smooth button of flesh inside James that would set him to screaming again.

When he found it, he had to splay a hand across James' stomach and hold him down as he thrashed, babbling nonsense syllables punctuated with gasps of John's name. More fluid dripped from his cock with every press of John's fingers, and yet James made no move to touch, apparently as lost in the pleasure of it as John was in watching him. Only a bare sliver of green showed of his eyes, as if he couldn't drag his eyelids open. John rocked his hand again, pressing firmly at the same spot. James' back bowed, his teeth closed on the meat of his hand to muffle his yell. His stomach was smeared wet. John needed to distract himself before he came in his trousers.

John shoved James' shirt up beneath his armpits, baring his chest, and licked hot strokes over the curve of his ribs, the line of his pectoral, the hollow below his collarbone. All the while his fingers pressed twisted and pressed relentlessly, driving harsh groans from James' chest, making John's lips buzz with the vibrations.

"You'd let me do it, wouldn't you?" John propped his chin on James' chest and stilled the movements of his hand. He rose and fell with James' heaving breaths, waited until James dragged his eyes open and focused blearily on John's face. "You'd let me continue like this as long as it contented me. God, and I thought that you were perfect _before_."

The flush had receded somewhat - now it returned, blazing red, and James struggled with his breathing for a moment before panting, "Please." James pushed back against John's fingers, his hands settling on John's waist and pulling at his shirt.

John smiled into James' skin and withdrew his fingers just enough to thrust straight against that sensitive place when he drove them back inside. James' mouth fell open and John took it swiftly with his own, swallowing the frustrated groan that issued from it. James balked a bit at first, but then his fingers were clutching at John's back under his shirt and his tongue was in John's mouth. James' beard prickled over John's skin, making him shiver and press their lips together harder just to feel it. 

They pulled apart gasping, and John found he was no longer so patient. James let out a bereft whine when John pulled his fingers free, only to still when John swiftly stripped out of his clothes. He guided James up, removing his coat, waistcoat, and shirt in fits and starts, as James' hands never left John's skin for longer than they had to. Those rope-callused fingers slid over the bumps of John's spine, tracing the wings of his shoulderblades. Warm palms flattened against his back, and when John laid them both down again, nothing but bare skin and sweat between them, James had him wrapped in an embrace both tender and desperate.

" _John_. God, please, enough, I _need_ to feel-" James ended the sentence on a moan pressed into the skin of John's neck.

"Only a little longer," John said, pawing around for his trousers and retrieving his small bottle of oil. He knelt on the bed with James' thighs wrapped around his waist, pale and strong and lightly dusted with red hair.

It was so easy to press his oiled fingers into James now, after licking and stretching him open, that it made John's cock ache again. James was clutching at the sheets, sweat glistening over his skin, his hair plastered to his neck, askew in the tie that had somehow never been removed. He rode back against John's hand, head thrown back, abandoning himself to it completely. John couldn't get his fingers out and his cock slick fast enough, certain he was going to tip over the edge the second he sank into the warm, clutching heat of James' body, tight and smooth and glorious.

"James, oh _God_." John clutched at James' arms, unable to stop himself from thrusting as deep into James as he could get. "Absolutely fucking gorgeous."

James was so far enraptured that he could not reply, his teeth closed around his hand again to muffle himself. His heels pushed against the backs of John's thighs and he pressed back to where they were joined. Now it was John that gasped and trembled, unable to find any steady rhythm. The squeeze around his cock was too good, too inviting to withdraw from, and instead he circled his hips and kept himself seated deep, grinding into James.

John forced himself to keep his eyes open against the blinding pleasure threatening to drag them shut, watching James take him and beg for more with the bowed line of his body and the press of his heels. James' cock was leaking freely now, each motion of John's hips making more fluid drip from it, pooling in James' belly button. John pressed the heel of one shaking palm to the base of James' cock.

That mere pressure, the first true touch to James' cock since John's mouth had left it, and he burst into orgasm, white streaks of come painting his abdomen and mingling with the wetness John had coaxed from him by his long ministrations. He tightened around John's cock sweetly, spasming with it, and finally John's hips moved. He drove into James, fucking him through the shuddering aftershocks of his orgasm, watching as his eyes flew open, still glassy and overwhelmed.

"John." It was strangled and pleading, and James clutched at John's shoulders, his hair, the swell of his arse. John's strokes continued unabated, white heat clawing up his spine and into his chest, pooling low in his belly. James groaned and raked his blunt nails down John's chest, catching on his nipples, and John flew into his own pleasure with a shout. His spine went liquid and he fell forward, his head resting on James' chest as he spilled inside him, smearing both their stomachs with James' cooling seed.

John was still quivering with it, wrung out but sunk deep in the bliss of his peak, when James squirmed back enough to have John's cock slip free, making him flinch at the sensation. He grumbled and clung to James, his ear laid over the other man's heartbeat. They had laid like this on that island, too, with John atop him and James' chin resting on the crown of his head. James stroked his hands lazily over John's skin, and John gave a small, contented hum.

"My God, John," James finally said, an explosive, wry huff of breath that set John to laughing outright.

"I did look for you," he said, finally answering James' question from the tavern earlier that night. "Every time I was in Port Royal, every place I knew that Navy men congregated. I looked for your hair."

James' short chuckle was loud under his ear. "It does stand out."

"I couldn't believe it when I saw you again. I knew I couldn't let the opportunity pass - what are the chances we would ever cross paths again?"

James stopped stroking John's back at that, his hand freezing in place, and John heaved himself up on one elbow so he could see his face. James wasn't looking at him, but rather gazed past him at the ceiling, a tiny furrow between his brows.

"What is it?"

"I would say it was providence," James said slowly, "only I know this to be a sin, and I wonder if it isn't meant to be a temptation instead - one that I've failed. Perhaps we will meet again, if only to see if I can be thrice so tempted." He looked at John squarely, his mouth quirking. "I would have it gladly, and would gladly fall to it."

John felt odd - he hadn't thought of James as a religious man, and he hadn't the first clue how to deal with that kind of questioning. He shifted until he could kiss James, slow and methodical, first with lips and then with tongue, in hopes of stealing his thoughts as well as his breath. He wouldn't talk of tomorrow or what-ifs or the chances of them meeting yet again. 

"Will you sleep here tonight?" he asked instead, murmuring it against James' lips.

"Yes," James said, no hesitation or doubt in his voice. He pulled John back again, the two of them trading slow kisses and short moans until the drying mess on their stomachs began to itch.

When they had cleaned themselves tolerably well, extinguished the candles, and crawled under the somewhat soiled bedclothes to curl around each other once more, a warm feeling of contentment settled in John's chest, not to be quelled even when James whispered that he would have to leave at first light.

"I won't wake," John mumbled, already half-asleep with his lips pressed to James' shoulder.

"I'll kiss you goodbye," James said, pressing a chaste promise of it against John's hair.

In the pale light before dawn, John did wake to the rough scrape of a beard and soft lips against his own, though he lingered on the edge of dreaming. 

"Fair winds and following seas," James whispered.

John's fingers twitched, and James took them in his own and allowed John to kiss his fingers. "We'll meet again," he sighed, falling back into the dark well of sleep. "Providence."

James' fingers slipped out of his, and John rolled over into the warm, sea-and-musk smelling spot he'd left, burying his face in the bedclothes and breathing deeply. The door latched. _Providence_ , he told himself, and dreamed of freedom, James, and the rolling sea.


End file.
